


what did you do?

by saraheli



Category: Block B
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, Criminal Reader, Detective Jihoon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 12:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14790899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraheli/pseuds/saraheli
Summary: You were not supposed to get caught. Obviously, as is true in most master plans, this little snag was not a part of it, but now, here you were, alone in the interrogation chamber across from the head detective, and you only knew one way to get out of this.





	what did you do?

_You’ve been trained for this. You know what to do—you have to._

You had gotten too good; you were what many in the business referred to as “Loose,” but that had never been something so bad or, dangerous, rather, until now. It meant easygoing, and it meant good at your job, but it also led to unforeseen mistakes. It meant being too confident: sloppy. Taking too long, leaving too late, busted.

So, you figured you got what was coming to you, then. It served you right, especially when your superiors had anything to say about it. They wouldn’t have helped you even if they did. You were on your own this time, and, frankly, you were fucked. Like, majorly.

A shockwave of relief bubbled through you from somewhere under your feet when the detective came through the door. You recognized him from the time before everything was different. He was harder now, older and even a little grayer. You couldn’t be sure if he recognized you, too. He certainly masked it well if he did as no lights displaced the color in his eyes at the sight of you.

“I have to be honest,” you sat forward in your chair, making yourself visually available to his gaze as he took his seat, “I knew the police force had faltering ethics, but this seems like an all-time low to me.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” he dropped your case file onto the table with a not-so-subtle slap, and then you were sure. That was Jihoon’s voice, all right.

The sound of it drove something through your stomach: something metallic and coated with frozen slush and blue raspberry flavoring and hard candy. Something unaged and uncorrupted. Neither of you was either of those things anymore.

“I would tell you to forget it, but it seems like you already have.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes at you then, and you felt oddly dirty as if you were being seen as just any other criminal. This upset you for two reasons, the first being that you absolutely were not just any other criminal. You were the best in the business and this was no secret to the police. You were wanted right and left, but they scarcely knew your name. They just wanted whoever was robbing all the wealthy businessmen in the suburbs, and that just happened to be you.

The second reason was that, if he had bothered to remember you, he might have known that you were not doing this for the sake of sport or overturning the underbelly of society onto the top; you were doing it to stay alive. Just as much as any police officer or intern or receptionist in this building, you needed to keep yourself fed in the only way you could. And so, it was like this. You kept yourself up, and he did, too. You fell apart that way. Working within the system or working under it were the only options, and, when forced to choose, you and Jihoon had chosen opposites. That was that.

No string tied between the two of you, made of any material, could have withstood the distance that this decision had spread. Nothing could have made him love you again, not like before. You were sure.

“I take it you’ve seen your fair share of people like me then, huh?” You prodded on, “Go on then. Work your magic. Make me say what you want me to.”

With a huff, he did begin. He lectured you with the information that they “already knew” and the theories they’d written up based on “what they know about you,” and then, he placed his palms firmly before you on the table. He took advantage of his size, towering over you and casting you into shadow. It was something you had expected him to do upon walking into the room, but he had waited. You couldn’t tell if it was from confidence or lack thereof. You couldn’t tell if he had noticed you yet.

If you had been a rookie, maybe even if you had been caught one job earlier, you might have given in to him. He was handsome and smart and his voice shook your bones violently howled under the pressure of each clicking consonant, but you were something different now. You were a new machine, welded together out of broken parts to make something horrifically and depressingly unbreakable.

“And that’s why you’re going to tell me what you know, miss,” he paused, looking at your name in your case file. You saw him see it, then. He cleared his throat, and, finally, he said your name.

It was a concoction of syllables that rendered themselves simultaneously familiar and foreign on his tongue. You briefly asked yourself if he would choke on the letters. He turned away quickly as if that could hide it but it was too late; you had seen that soft childlike glaze in his eyes to be sure. He had been pretending, but he couldn’t do it anymore. Not now.

Your lips turned up at the corners, “Officer Pyo, I think you and I both know that I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to.”

He visibly tensed, his already large form growing in its rigidity. His hand came up to his neck, and, as he turned to face you, his wrist jerked to loosen his tie under his collar. Jihoon’s eyes darkened, and his features were shaded by something heavy. His hands slammed down on the table, shaking it against you and forcing a gasp from your stomach. Your immediate instinct was to fight back, but here you had to submit. You had to let him be bigger.

“I am not fucking around here,” he hissed, spitting out your name there at the end so that it landed on the table with a messy  _thud_.

“I’m not sure why you’re shouting,” you replied, slathering your words with the same venom, “ _detective_.”

You knew why he was shouting. He was shouting for all of those years of being blindsided by your recklessness and injury, for all of those empty-tumbler-nights and burn scars and salted wounds, for calling him baby and angel when you wanted something he couldn’t give you. For leaving him for a whole world he couldn’t see and for making him watch you drown in it.

He was shouting for his inability to lock you up.

“Fuck you,” he whispered, “you want me to lose my job over this shit?”

_Again?_

You could hear the question in his mouth though he hadn’t asked it.

“I can’t-I’m not going to protect you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” you replied simply.

You had. You had asked him to the minute you heard him say your name.

“I’m getting you another officer.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I have to,” he stood up, sliding his hands away from you, “You know me.”

“And that’s why I know that you won’t walk out that door without me.”

“Fuck you.”


End file.
